CHAPTER VI 



A NIGHT WATCH : PHOTOGRAPHY AND BAD 



LUCK 



IT was September, the end of the dry season, 

 and the streams were running very low. 

 There was just a line of muddy pools 

 along the bush-fringed bed of the little river. To 

 these pools the beasts and birds of the surrounding 

 country came by day or night to drink. There 

 were tracks of roan and reed buck, duiker and 

 oribi, an old spoor of a sable and of a big bush 

 pig. Just as we were leaving the line of pools, 

 I came across the recent tracks of a lioness. She 

 had come to drink, and perhaps to wait for her 

 dinner. Had she found it ; had the little river 

 witnessed one of those jungle tragedies, so terribly 

 common in Africa ; had the night seen the 

 stealthy stalk the rush the killing of some 

 animal come down to drink, perhaps from miles 

 away, but finding death instead ? 



This was the first lion spoor I had seen in 

 Angola, and, the moon being full and the skies 

 clear, it was decided to watch for the lioness that 

 night. 



There is something fascinating in the stillness 

 and loneliness of a watch by a jungle pool. It 



